Chapter 27: The Whisper of Identity
Shapira plunged once more into the bottomless pit, but this time, William wasn't there to pull her back. The poison Isabelle had injected, not just through the soup she refused, but also through the horrific whispers that eroded her sanity, began to unleash its deadly power. Her entire body felt like it was burning from within, every nerve throbbing in an endless symphony of pain. Her brain churned, and the world around her warped like a shattered mirror. She lay on the bed, gasping for breath, the thick blanket feeling like lead pressing down on her. A high fever made her skin burn, yet simultaneously, she shivered violently. Her eyes were open, staring at the carved ceiling, which now danced in her vision as if the entire palace were spinning.
Then, they came. The visions. Clearer, more real, crueler than ever before.
The grand, dark hall stretched out again, but this time it wasn't just Princess Anya tied to the pillar. Beside her stood another woman, her gown a flowing silver-white, with blonde curls identical to Isabelle's. Her face was Isolde's, but her smile, the cruel gleam in her eyes, and the way she held the snake-engraved dagger, were entirely Isabelle's. She touched Anya's forehead, as if giving a blessing, but her lips whispered unheard words, words that felt like sharp knives slicing into Shapira's soul.
"Do you see it, Shapira?" Isolde/Isabelle's voice echoed from within the vision, its resonance so powerful it seemed to speak directly into Shapira's ear. "How fragile this soul is. A helpless soul. A soul waiting to be saved, but salvation never comes. I know the feeling, don't I? Betrayed by the world, abandoned by fate. William could never save her."
Shapira's tears flowed freely, soaking the pillow. She tried to scream, tried to escape the horrific scene, but her body wouldn't obey. "That's not me! I'm not her!"
Isolde/Isabelle laughed, a piercing sound that echoed into the depths of her soul. "You are her. And you are me. We are bound, Shapira. From the very beginning. Since fate separated us, only to bring us back together. You are the echo of my past, and I am the bridge to your future. A future where we will never again be abandoned."
The vision shattered, replaced by an impenetrable darkness. Shapira felt as if she were drowning in a sea of black ink, struggling to find light, but there was none. She felt a cold touch on her forehead, then a strange warmth spread through her body. A soft whisper, full of affection, yet also menacing.
"Shapira, my dear, you have a fever. A very high one." Isabelle's voice. It was so close, so real, and Shapira felt Isabelle's cold fingers caress her sweat-soaked hair. She opened her eyes and saw Isabelle's face framing her vision, smiling sweetly, but her eyes glinted, just like Isolde's in her vision.
"Isolde," Shapira whispered weakly, the word escaping her lips without thought.
Isabelle's smile widened, full of hidden satisfaction. She nodded slowly. "Yes, my dear. It is I. I am Isolde. And you are Anya. Our destinies, as you've seen, are tightly intertwined. We are both part of an ancient dance that has played out for centuries." Isabelle sat on the edge of the bed, her hand reaching for Shapira's thin one, her slender fingers gripping tightly. The coldness of Isabelle's palm sent a shiver through Shapira's entire body, but for some reason, Shapira was too weak to pull away.
"I … I don't understand," Shapira said, her voice hoarse. She wanted to resist, to scream that she wasn't Anya, but her strength was utterly drained.
"You will understand, Shapira. In time, everything will become clear." Isabelle gently stroked Shapira's cheek, as if she were a sick younger sister. "Our souls call to each other, seek each other out. That's why you often see me in your dreams, in your visions. Because you are a part of me, and I am a part of you. We are inseparable destinies."
Isabelle leaned closer, her whisper sounding like sweet poison. "Imagine, Shapira. Us, together. No one will ever be able to hurt us again. We will possess boundless power. We will never again be betrayed by love, by ambition, by the foolish wars of men. Your William, he can never save you, just as he couldn't save Anya. He will only use you, then discard you, just as he does every woman he 'loves'."
Isabelle's words burrowed into Shapira's mind, gnawing at her greatest fears, the fear of abandonment, the fear of betrayal. Anya's song, which had warned her not to let darkness deceive her heart, now felt so distant, so faint, swallowed by Isabelle's pervasive whispers.
"Why … why are you doing this?" Shapira asked, her eyes closed, trying to banish the dancing specter of Isolde from her mind.
Isabelle chuckled softly. "I'm doing it for us, Shapira. To free us from the curse of destiny that has entangled us for centuries. Lucian … he understands. He is the only one who truly comprehends our suffering. He wants us to reign, together. Without shackles, without pain." Isabelle rose, casting her final, mysterious smile before stepping out of the room. "Think about it, my dear. When you feel yourself growing weaker, when you feel there's nowhere left to run. Remember that I am here. For you."
The door closed softly, leaving Shapira in a terrifying silence. Isabelle's audacious declarations, her claim of being Isolde bound to Anya, and that Shapira was a part of them, spun in her head, mingling with the poison's effects that blurred her rationality. She felt trapped, pulled into an ever-deepening abyss, and every part of her screamed to break free.
*
Meanwhile, far beyond the walls of Shapira's room, William's and King Astellia's anxiety escalated. They knew Shapira was gravely ill, but the court healers couldn't pinpoint the exact cause. Healer Eldrin had mentioned "dark power permeating the soul," but couldn't elaborate. Pressure from Lucian's threat at the border increasingly frustrated William, but his heart and mind couldn't stray far from Shapira.
"I cannot let Shapira continue like this, Father," William said, his face tense as they sat in the King's private study. The table before them was laden with ancient parchment scrolls and thick tomes that smelled of dust and ages past. "Something is terribly wrong. This isn't just a physical ailment. Isabelle's words … and her visions of Isolde … it all feels too real."
King Astellia let out a heavy sigh, his fingers massaging his temples. "I know, William. I, too, feel the darkness enveloping Shapira. We must find out what is truly happening."
They had gathered every ancient text pertaining to dark magic, spirits, and reincarnation from the royal library. William, with the help of several court scholars, spent hours trying to decipher the nearly illegible ancient writings. Finally, an old, yellowed parchment scroll caught their attention. It was titled, "Bound Souls and the Curse of Twin Destinies."
"Look at this, Father," William pointed to an underlined section. "It states here that in extremely rare cases, two souls with a strong bond in the past can draw each other together in the future. If one soul possesses malevolent intent, it can 'attract' the other soul, drain its power, and even dominate its mind."
King Astellia leaned in, his eyes tracing the ancient script. "It says that one of the primary symptoms is intense visions and hallucinations involving the identity of the attracting soul, as well as an unyielding fever and mental confusion."
"That's exactly what Shapira is experiencing!" William exclaimed, his eyes alight with hope, yet also apprehension. "And Isabelle … her claim of being Isolde reincarnated … that's too specific. Could Isabelle be telling the truth? That she is Isolde, and somehow she's trying to pull Shapira into this soul-bond?"
The King nodded slowly, his expression grim. "If that is the case, then the necklace she gave Shapira, enchanted with dark magic, might not just be for manipulation, but to strengthen this bond. Lucian must be working through Isabelle, exploiting the power she possesses as Isolde's soul."
"So, Shapira isn't hallucinating," William wrung his hands. "She is genuinely under spiritual assault. We must find a way to sever this bond, Father. Before Isabelle completely overwhelms Shapira."
Both were trapped in a flawed conclusion. The ancient texts, which should have been the key, instead led them further astray. They failed to realize that Isabelle had read such texts, or even learned the incantations that allowed her to manipulate this information. They now believed Shapira was a victim of a terrifying soul-bond with Isolde (whom they presumed to be Isabelle), not merely a victim of lies and manipulative magic. Their focus shifted from uncovering Isabelle's deception to finding a way to "separate" Isabelle's soul from Shapira.
*
The following evening, the palace hosted a small dinner banquet to welcome ambassadors from neighboring kingdoms who had come to discuss an alliance against Lucian. The event was meant to be a display of Astellia's strength and stability, but for Shapira, it was a stage of torment. She was forced to attend, dressed in a dark blue silk gown that felt heavy on her weakened body. Her head throbbed, and every whispered sound in the hall felt like a blow to her eardrums.
She walked beside William, her hand held tightly, yet she felt immensely distant. Her vision frequently blurred, and occasionally, she saw Isabelle across the room, smiling sweetly at the nobles, but her eyes held a faint green glint, just like Lucian's eyes she'd seen in her visions.
"Are you alright, Shapira?" William whispered, his voice filled with concern. "You look very pale."
Shapira could only nod, not trusting her own voice. She felt as if she were a puppet, forced to perform in public, while her soul screamed in agony.
Suddenly, as Shapira was speaking with an ambassador, she felt a touch on her shoulder. She turned and found Isabelle standing beside her, her smile seemingly carved to perfection.
"You look a bit tired, dear," Isabelle said, her voice loud enough for several nobles nearby to hear. "Is your head still spinning?"
Shapira winced. "A little."
Without warning, Isabelle raised her hand and touched Shapira's forehead with her cold fingers. A strange wave of energy coursed through Shapira, not healing, but exacerbating her confusion. The vision of Isolde stabbing Anya with the dagger flashed in her mind again, followed by Isabelle's echoing laughter.
"Calm yourself, dear," Isabelle whispered, her voice audible only to Shapira. "I am here for you. We will soon be united. Do not fight our destiny. William will not be able to protect you from your true fate. He will only destroy you, as he did Anya. Let me guide you."
Nobles around them observed the interaction with curious glances. Some even whispered, "Lady Isabelle is so concerned for Lady Shapira, isn't she?" Or, "I hear Lady Shapira is often unwell. Something must be troubling her soul. Perhaps Lady Isabelle can help her."
Shapira recoiled a step, gasping for breath. She felt dizzy, her world spinning. Her eyes darted to William, who was now approaching with a worried look. William eyed Isabelle suspiciously, but Isabelle's expression remained calm and filled with concern.
"Isabelle, what are you doing?" William asked, his voice low and sharp.
"I am merely trying to help Shapira, Prince," Isabelle replied, her voice sweet as honey. "She looks so frail. I simply wanted to give her energy. She needs spiritual support. There is a powerful bond drawing her, I feel it." Isabelle gave William a meaningful look, as if she were the only one who truly understood what was happening.
William sighed, his confusion evident on his face. He believed the ancient texts, believed that Isabelle, as Isolde, possessed this power. He believed Isabelle was trying to 'draw' Shapira.
Shapira stared at both of them, the world feeling like a theater stage, and she a helpless pawn. She heard the whispers of the nobles, which only further solidified their belief in Isabelle's "influence" over Shapira. The unbearable dizziness, the waves of nausea, and the dancing visions of Isolde, it was all too much to bear.
She felt her eyes close, and when she opened them again, they met a pair of terrifying green eyes from across the room. Lucian. He stood at the hall's threshold, his shadow swallowing the light. A faint smile played on his lips, not one of triumph, but of understanding, as if he read everything happening in Shapira's mind.
A faint, formless whisper, yet clearly audible in Shapira's mind, overriding the hall's commotion. "Do you see it, Anya? Their lies. Their betrayal. They will all abandon you. He cannot protect you. But I can."
Lucian extended a hand, a gesture almost imperceptible, as if offering Shapira a lifeline in the midst of the storm. "Join me. Not to flee your destiny bound with Isolde, but to master it. You will understand. You will wield power. Free yourself from this suffering. You don't have to be the weak Anya. You can be a powerful queen, with me by your side. I will give you strength William can never provide. Understand your destiny, and master it."
The whisper was the most dangerous temptation, not liberation, but power. Lucian did not attempt to deny the soul-bond Isabelle claimed, but rather embraced it, twisting it into a promise of strength. He offered Shapira a way to overcome this suffering, not by eradicating it, but by harnessing it.
Shapira gasped, her breath catching. Lucian's offer was too enticing, too liberating from the suffering she endured. Yet, she also knew he was poison. She felt herself oscillating between two darknesses, Isabelle's manipulation, which tethered her to a dark past, and Lucian's offer, which promised power at an unimaginable cost.
She looked at Lucian again, his green eyes radiating a cold invitation. For a fleeting moment, she saw Isabelle's shadow beside Lucian, smiling with satisfaction. Shapira's dizziness intensified. Her body swayed, and she felt her consciousness once again being pulled into a dark abyss. But this time, there was another whisper in her mind, not Anya's, not Lucian's, but her own. A startling question, hanging in the air like the shadow of a sword.
Who am I, truly? And for whom should I fight?
Before darkness completely consumed her, Shapira felt another touch, not Isabelle's cold grasp, but William's panicked touch, trying to support her. Yet, this time, William's touch felt faint, distant. As if Shapira already stood on the precipice of a different world, where love and power clashed in an eternal war, and she, Shapira, had to choose a side. Her choice would determine not only her fate but also the fate of Astellia. And time was running out.